Accordion
by seriouscaseofthegayface
Summary: My boyfriend thinks it's weird that I love doing this. But I think it's weird that he loves the accordion." A look into intern Daisy Wick's head when she receives a certain phone call from everyone's favourite psychologist.


**A/N: And here I am again! Happy to see me? :P So, as is fast becoming my trademark, have a little Sweets/Daisy fluff, and see the other side to the fateful conversation from Man in the Outhouse.**

**Enjoy! (:**

**Daisy POV**

The accordion. Commonly defined as, 'a portable musical instrument with metal reeds blown by bellows, played by means of keys and buttons'. Or, 'the damn contraption one's boyfriend plays constantly thus driving his extremely intelligent, attractive and wonderful girlfriend to her wits end'. Take your pick.

I massage my temples, attempting to focus on the blank, dissertation-less piece of paper in front of me while my boyfriend recreates the Dying Cat Parade on that accursed instrument. You'd think, if he practised every second of every day, he'd improve. Roger seems to have gotten worse. I grit my teeth.

"Roger, baby? Would you mind stopping, I can't concentrate." I say, as pleasantly as I can manage.

Roger shakes his head. "No can do, honeybunch. Gotta keep up the practising." he murmurs.

I count to ten in my head before responding. "Sweetums, I've had a _really_ hard day today, so I'd appreciate it if -"

"Shh!" Roger fixes me with a stern glare. "Don't you know how rude it is to talk during a performance?"

"Roger, I really ha - oh!" My phone lights up suddenly, unregistered number. Anything to get away from this. "Sweetie, can you turn if off a second?" I raise my voice in order to be heard. "I need to take this call!"

No response. How charming.

"Fine! Be that way!" I snap melodramatically, stomping into the kitchen and pressing the 'answer' button on my cell. "Hello?" I demand

"Uh... hi." The mystery caller replies, a little taken aback. "Is this Daisy Wick?"

"Yup, that's me." I lean against the kitchen countertop, trying to inject politeness into my tone.

"Hey! This is Lance."

I wrack my brains. Lance, Lance... I don't know a Lance. I have a brilliant long term memory, too - I even mentioned it in my letter of application to the Jeffersonian. So, who was calling me? "Um, sorry?"

"The shrink?"

It all comes flooding back in an instant. That one shrink, the guy who worked at the FBI. The one who Agent Booth referred to as 'Sweets'. The one who Dr Brennan had instructed me to pick up and turn upside down (and I would have, too, if he hadn't stopped me). The one who'd practically solved the case on his own. The brilliant one. The one with the tousled hair and dimples. The one who was pretty much the cutest thing I'd ever seen. That one.

"From the Jeffersonian, right? Hi!" All traces of my bad mood are eradicated as a smile spreads across my face.

"Yeah." Lance clears his throat. "Listen... sorry you got fired."

"Fired, schmired." I wave it away, not bothering to elaborate on my five point operation to get rehired and become Dr Brennan's favourite grad student. Plenty of time for that later. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Lance's reply comes a little too quickly to be considered nonchalant. "Nothing. What are you doing?"

I think of my dissertation. And the five point plan. And my schedule. _It'll still be there in the morning_, I reason."Oh, nothing really." This seems too good to be true, though I remind myself to take precautions. I don't need another Roger on my hands. "Hey, do you like the accordion?" It would be just my luck to get saddled with another enthusiast of the instrument from hell.

Lance laughs slightly, it's adorable-ness almost melting my heart. "The accordion? No, no, no..." I breathe a sigh of relief. "I play a little bass though."

Oh? My interest is piqued. "Really? The bass players are, like, always the hottest. True fact." I state knowledgeably. Lance chuckles nervously - adorable, again.

"Um, thanks, I guess. I -"

"Hey, do you want to meet up?" I interrupt. "Founding Fathers in twenty minutes? That is, if you aren't seeing anyone..." I cross my fingers surreptitiously.

"Oh, um, I'm single." Someone up there likes you, Daisy! "And that sounds great! I'll see you soon, then?"

"Yeah, awesome!" I beam. "Thanks for calling! Bye, Lance!"

He hangs up. I suppress an excited squeal as I rush to fix my hair in the hall mirror. Perfect.

From the living room, the wails of Roger's accordion can still be heard. I bite my lip. Is it considered cheating if your significant other won't even notice your absence? I don't _think_ so... Plus, how many 24 year old absolutely adorable FBI Psychologists _are _there? Not many, I can tell you.

I retrieve my purse and coat before shouting a quick, "Bye, Roger!" over the din of a thousand fingernails scraping down a blackboard. Seriously, no exaggeration. The guy who invented the accordion is turning in his grave.

Roger ignores me. Surprise.

As I walk out into the music-free night air, I can't help smiling to myself. Saying today had been eventful is an understatement.

Cons: I got fired by my idol, I had to sift through six barrels worth of feces, I'm back to square one awesome-forensic-anthropology-career wise.

Pros: I have a date with a cute psychologist. A _really_ cute psychologist. And hey, call it intuition, but I think that he could turn out to be my perfect match.

What can I say? I dig bass players.

**A/N: And that's it, folks! What did you think? Have you been overloaded with the Swaisy love yet? Please take a minute to leave me a review, it would make me squeal and bounce around and generally scare my family! **

**Peace,  
Ellie (: **


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